


Naughty or Nice

by lilsmartass



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christmas fic, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, T'hy'la, kirkspock advent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has a Christmas present for Spock</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naughty or Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: R
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, just playing in Gene Roddenbury’s sandbox
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: Sexual content, slash
> 
> Pairing: Kirk/Spock 
> 
> Genre: PWP, established relationship

** Naughty or Nice **

 

Spock had not attended the Christmas party. He does not begrudge his human crewmates their traditions of course, but for himself, he can think of nothing worse than circulating through a crowded dark room of inebriated, loud humans. He is however surprised when Jim enters his quarters long before the party’s end. It would have been the height of bad form for both the command officers to fail to attend, and Jim would have gone in his place to spare him the necessity even if he had not wanted to, but the fact is that the Captain is a gregarious and social individual who thrives on the attention and devotion of his crew. It had given Spock no small amount of pleasure to see the glaring excitement in Jim’s brilliant eyes as he had prepared himself earlier. He had therefore, expected Jim to stay well into the night, drinking and making merry, had expected the Captain would return to his own quarters in a thoughtful but unnecessary effort not to disturb him. Yet here he is.

He looks tired and flushed, but happy as he too rarely is. The collar of his shirt is askew and the curl that he spends so much time slicking back in the morning is falling over his forehead. His gait is surprisingly steady considering that Spock can smell that he has been drinking. “Spock,” he says softly, and it is apparent just from the sound of his name on Jim’s lips that although he has been drinking he is far from drunk.

“I had thought you would remain at the party t’hy’la.”

“I missed you.”

It is no forlorn, unhappy statement. Indeed, there is something almost predatory in Jim’s eyes, something his soft smile would hide from one who did not know him as well as Spock does. Spock resists the urge to back up a step and illogically wishes he were wearing something more substantial than his thin meditation robe. He does not swallow despite the thrill of anticipation he cannot deny is running through him and instead raises an eyebrow. “There is no need. I am content here and shall be here when the festivities have finished.”

“Well, it’s Christmas Spock. I thought I should give you your present,” Jim purrs gliding forward with surprising grace.

This time Spock cannot repress the instinctive step back, despite knowing he has nothing to fear here. The bond they share is humming with Jim’s excitement. “We have already exchanged gifts,” he says, and if his voice is not quite steady and his eyes slightly darker than normal, well...no one but his t’hy’la is here to know.

Jim steps up close to him, boxing the Vulcan into the corner between the desk and the partition for the sleeping alcove. At this proximity, Jim fills every one of Spock’s senses. He can smell whatever fruity drink he has been drinking, his aftershave and the clean musk which is just Jim, can see little but the golden green depths of his too wide, glittering eyes, feel every buzzing sensation Jim is feeling right in the deepest recesses of his mind. “So Spock,” he says, and his voice is deep in his chest, holding the note of command it holds on the bridge but rarely here between them. Spock cannot help but respond to it and he straightens slightly, even as he shivers with the fire of arousal runs through him. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

He should probably point out the illogical nature of that question, probably point out that Christmas is not the tradition of his planet and that the cultural connotations of being _naughty_ or _nice_ mean nothing to him. Instead, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and his voice is little more than a rasp as he says, “Nice.”

The arousal is pouring off Jim in waves, battering against the minimal shields he keeps in this room and confusing his senses. He blames this fact for the undignified and decidedly unVulcan moan that he lets out when his answer produces a widening of Jim’s feral smile and the slow glide of his warm, strong, certain hands down Spock’s sides from ribs to calves as Jim drops to his knees in front of him. Jim nuzzles into his groin, lips drawing teasingly over the still cloth covered hardness until Spock has to choke back another sound, then he rocks back on his heels and smirks up. He licks his plush lips slowly, seductively, “Nice?” he questions teasingly.

Spock does not groan and grab Jim’s hair, pulling him to where he needs him most because he is still in control. Mostly. “Yes,” he agrees and can’t help the slight hitch to the word, nor the stutter of his hips.

Jim reaches up and puts his hands flat on Spock’s hip bones, pushing him back against the wall. Spock is more than three times stronger, but in this, as in so many things, he allows Jim to lead and follows the unspoken direction of the hands. “Good boy,” Jim smiles up at him, still with that predatory edge to the words. “And good boys get rewarded don’t they Mr. Spock?”

This time he can’t repress the swallow. “I certainly hope so,” he manages in a passable impression of his usual deadpan tone.

Jim gives a startled and delighted laugh and Spock can stop neither whine nor flinch as his breath ghosts over his already dripping manhood, tantalising through the black silk of the robe. “Alright then.” He doesn’t remove his hands from Spock’s hips, nuzzling back in until he can peel the fabric back with his lips. He blows on Spock’s erection again to hear him whine because it delights him to hear his restrained Vulcan lose control. Then he closes his eyes and carefully lowers the shields Spock taught him to construct around their bond.

The feeling of the shields coming down, as Jim’s hot mouth closes around him and sucks, is like a punch. Spock had thought the feelings he had been receiving from Jim had been battering him before, but this is like being thrust into a supernova. He spasms and gasps, fighting to keep his hips still, as directed, and he thinks he might have actually shouted. He doesn’t finish there and then, but it’s a close thing.

It doesn’t take long after that. Jim has always been enthusiastic in their lovemaking but being able to feel his genuine pleasure is so much more erotic than being able to hear it and combined with the perfect skilful pressure of Jim’s mouth and tongue, the barest scrape of teeth, the picture his beautiful, dynamic lover makes in this position, makes it impossible for Spock to last. He finishes in one long burst and Jim swallows it, mind humming approval which makes Spock’s cock twitch once more. He slides down the wall to settle in front of his t’hy’la and kisses him, a possessive thrill shuddering through him at the taste of himself on Jim’s lips. He reaches out to return the favour but his hand encounters only damp material. Jim flushes, embarrassed, “I...umm...the feedback when I dropped my shields...”

“Understandable,” Spock soothes, moving his hand to instead pet his lover’s hair. Jim leans his head against his shoulder, drowsy as he always is after orgasm and unusually relaxed in the not-quite-Vulcan-warm room with more alcohol than he would usually permit himself buzzing in his veins. They stay like that, nestled together on the floor for a long time, until the discomfort of the position is the only thing keeping Jim awake. “Jim?”

“Hmmm?”

“What was your plan had I answered naughty?”

Jim lifts his face from Spock’s shoulder and smirks up at him. “Well Mr Spock, then I would have broken out the Romulan grade restraints.”

Spock feels a shudder run through him, and wonders if he might have given the wrong answer. He’ll have to see what happens next year.


End file.
